A Simple Mystery
by meixel
Summary: After nearly thirty years, Monte Martin is discovered in a makeshift crypt. Who was this man and why did he meet his end in such a horrible way? Can Mike and Steve find the answers and bring his killer to justice?
1. Chapter 1

a/n: I don't own anything to do with SOSF or their characters, nor do I get any profit from writing stories in this fandom. This is just for fun and entertainment. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

**A Simple Mystery** **Act 1, Part 1**

**Early Spring, 1974**

The familiar brown Ford roared up Coleman Street and screeched to a halt. The two detectives exited the vehicle and walked quickly to the crime scene. Neither man understood how the coroner was able to arrive before them without fail, but once again, Bernie Bradley was there to greet Stone and Keller.

"Well, this may be your toughest case yet, Mike," Bernie began as the pair approached.

"How so, Bernie?" Mike questioned.

"This body has been here for quite some time. Years, maybe even decades. If this goes back to when the last time a structure was built here, I'd say back to the forties," the medical examiner pondered.

"The forties?" Steve asked as he peered into what was ostensibly a crypt constructed of cinder blocks, but saw only a shadowed image. Bending over too closely, Steve accidentally took a whiff of what had been sealed for many years and pulled back immediately. He groaned as he turned his head.

Bernie smirked at the reaction. "The demolition workers have been methodically tearing down this building for weeks. I understand a new medical clinic is to be built here so they've been removing materials that can be reused. They came across these cinder blocks constructed like a large box. It was too small to be a room and the guys became curious about what it was about. Jackson over there," he said as he pointed to a shaken young man sitting on the sidelines talking to a uniformed policeman, "was the one who took a sledgehammer to it. A few whacks and the bricks cracked. He pulled off the top layer and found the victim inside."

Mike grabbed a flashlight from Bernie, looked down into the makeshift crypt and saw a most disturbing sight. The victim was positioned on his side, hogtied, bound and gagged. What was left of the person's skin was paper thin but still not fully decomposed. The clothes only looked slightly faded and hardly threadbare. A chill ran up Mike's spine as he looked into the face and saw dark holes where the eyes had been and realized that the victim had died with them open.

"So someone buried this guy alive? What a horrible way to go," Mike observed.

Steve nodded in agreement and then looked around the construction site. "What would this have been - a corner of the old building?"

"Yes, most definitely. The remains of a sidewalk are only three feet away. Think of the number of people who must have walked passed, only a few feet away from this poor man."

"How long, Bernie?" Mike asked.

"Hard to tell. We'll need to transport the body back to the morgue and do an assessment. This makeshift crypt was very well sealed, so the body should be nicely preserved. But first thing, we'll see if he has any ID on him. We'll also take a look at his clothes, belt, shoes and anything else."

"It looks like he's wearing a suit – and a big one at that," Mike observed.

"Hard to tell how big he was to begin with, I suppose," Steve wondered aloud. "But look at his shoes. They're two toned Oxfords – wingtips, I believe. I've seen those on school kids nowadays, but not grown men."

"I remember those," Mike commented. "Actually, they were very sharp. I had a pair way back when, after the war. Probably when you were in diapers still, Buddy boy," he added as he cast a quick glance to his partner. "If this guy goes back to the day when people actually cared about their appearance, those Oxfords might be a clue."

"Yes, perhaps I can check with my grandfather as to when they were popular," Steve said with a slight grin as he returned the dig.

Mike looked over at Steve and frowned, which only made Steve smile broader. Mike quickly changed the subject. "Okay, Bernie. Looks like we got ourselves a case. When will your findings be ready?"

"Check with me after the morning, Mike. While the body is well preserved, it's still a very old corpse, so it's going to be tough," Bernie said as he looked over to the victim. "I guess this poor man has waited all these years to be discovered, another day shouldn't matter." With that, he signaled one of his team to take photos of the scene before he and his other attendants carefully removed the body from the crypt.

* * *

The homicide detectives took several minutes to survey the area, and when Mike felt the crime scene was secured, he turned to Steve. "I remember when this building went up. It was not long after the war, if I recall correctly. Lots of new construction around here back then. I'm sure there's a record of this - look into that."

"You mean, check the real estate records for this property to find out when the building was constructed and by whom?" Steve asked as he looked at his watch.

"Yes, that's what I mean. What, do you have better things to do?" Mike asked mildly perturbed.

"It's not that. It's just that it's late and by the time I get over there, the Department of Revenue will be closed," he said as he looked at his watch again.

"Any other reason?" Mike asked suspiciously. _A reason with a 36-24-36 measurement, perhaps?_

"Well, I do have plans this evening, but I'm not due at Berkeley for another three hours. I can hurry over there and see what I can find at the Revenue office, but chances are I'll have to go back in the morning." Steve shrugged nonchalantly as he started to walk back to the car.

"Berkeley? You going back for more education? Don't you have enough?" Mike teased as he joined Steve.

"I've had enough 'classroom' to last me a few years at least. No, actually I'm meeting some friends there for a concert later."

"Concert, huh? Some of that hippie music you listen to?" Mike fished.

Steve sighed. "No, none of that. It's chamber music…"

"Oh, long haired music," Mike corrected.

"Well, I know it's not the Andrew Sisters or Tommy Dorsey…" Steve began.

Mike grinned. "Oh, you know who they are, huh?"

"Well, that same grandfather of mine who wore Oxfords told me," the younger man responded with a smirk.

Feeling in a good mood, Mike looked at his watch and then back at his partner. The pair had put many hours in recently. Steve hadn't complained, which in some ways bothered Mike. Somewhere along the line, his young partner had stopped discussing his after hour activities, especially the women he dated. Whenever Mike asked, Steve hedged.

The older man knew the toll the job took on relationships and social life. Mike remembered Mo and Connie, both of whom had trouble with Steve's job. And there were others… Most women found it hard to be a cop's girlfriend. Aside from the danger, the schedule was too erratic. There were numerous occasions when Mike needed Steve for additional work and dates were cut short. There were a handful of times when Mike physically interrupted the date, much to Steve's embarrassment. After too many instances, the subject of a social life was simply dropped.

"You know, Buddy boy, it's been a long day and I know we'll have an even longer day tomorrow once we get the initial results from Bernie and information from the Revenue office. Why don't you drop me off at my house and go home and get ready for the concert."

Steve stopped in his tracks and looked at his partner with doubt. "Okay, who are you and what did you do with Mike Stone?"

Mike did nothing but smile.

"Okay, Mike. I'll drop you home and then I'll come around in the morning. Does eight sound okay?"

"And waste half the day? In the office - seven o'clock – and if you get us there a minute late, I'll dock you."


	2. Chapter 2

**Act 1, Part 2**

* * *

Dr. Bernie Bradley was passionate about his work. Anytime there was a murder, the medical examiner did his best to provide the Bureau of Inspectors the most accurate answers in the most efficient manner. While he asked Mike to give him until after the morning, Bernie was intrigued enough by the discovery that he began work as soon as the body arrived at the morgue. Finding a mostly decomposed corpse sealed tightly in a cinder block vault presented new challenges for anyone specializing in forensics – challenges that Bernie was determined to meet.

The clothing was carefully removed, labeled and bagged: a white cotton shirt, a grey suit with pleated pants, a black leather belt, underwear, socks, and of course, the aforementioned wingtip Oxford shoes. Time had been relatively kind to the clothes; they were in good shape, including the labels and tags.

The tall dark haired doctor began tagging another set of evidence. What bound the victim was curious: a canvas-like adhesive was used to tie his hands behind his back. His feet were also bound together by the same material. Finally, his hands and feet were chained together, held by a very small padlock. Inside the victim's mouth, he found a small but colorful piece of cloth used as a gag. Then secured tightly around his mouth, there was a black tie.

"Someone must have thought this man was Houdini," Bernie remarked to himself.

Now with clothing and restraints removed, Bernie took photos of the corpse, recording as much as he could before beginning the autopsy.

* * *

True to Mike's order, Steve had both men in the office by 7am. The ride to work began quietly as the younger man was apparently still tired from his late night.

"What time did you get home last night, Buddy boy?" Mike inquired with good nature from the passenger side of the vehicle.

"Just a hair before midnight," Steve said as he stifled a yawn. "And not a moment too soon. If I'm not home by midnight, the Porsche becomes a Pinto."

"Uh-huh," Mike responded knowing frivolous small talk when he heard it. "What about the concert? Was it good?"

"Very well done," his young partner answered somewhat seriously. He kept his eyes focused on the road. "I enjoyed it very much."

Mike nodded. "Chamber music…that's for small ensembles, right?"

"Generally. It goes back to the time when musicians played for royalty or the wealthy and they played in small rooms rather than concert halls," Steve elaborated. Realizing what Mike said, he added, "Say, I'm impressed!"

"Well, I do know a thing or two about classical music. What did you hear?" Mike asked.

"Popular composers – Beethoven, Schumann, Mozart. Mostly for piano, strings and clarinet."

"Was this a date?" Mike asked more bluntly than intended.

Steve didn't know whether to be exasperated or amused. While they had worked as well as ever professionally, lately he had been purposely distant about his social life. The last girl to give him his walking papers after Mike crashed their date still left a bitter taste in his mouth. Yet, he knew Mike's heart was in the right place. After considering himself fortunate that the older man took such an interest in him, Steve softened a bit. "No, not really. It was a just group of us who went to support the clarinet player. She's the younger sister of one of my classmates and she's very talented."

_'No, not really', huh? _Mike couldn't help but notice the gleam in Steve's eye or the slight blush that came across his face at his last words. Thinking that it was best to probe no further, Mike changed the subject to sports.

"Say, guess you missed the Giants game last night…"

* * *

The morning passed quickly. Wrapping up paperwork from their last solved case and then attending the Captain's weekly staff meeting, the pair realized it was already mid-morning. Steve created a file for their latest case. Typing "_John Doe"_ on the label_,_ he hoped they could make progress on identifying the victim and that the title would only be temporary. After submitting his notes from the prior night's discovery, he decided to head off to the public library to see what information he could find about 2350 Coleman Street before driving over to the Revenue Department and retrieving tax and ownership records of the now demolished building.

Not long after, Mike decided to amble down to the morgue to see if Bernie had any success. It wasn't quite yet noon, but curiosity got the better of Mike. He grabbed his hat and coat for the quick but brisk walk he anticipated between the buildings.

* * *

Mike knocked on the door to the examination room and found Bernie at his microscope studying various slides he's pulled together from the autopsy.

"Find anything?" Mike asked as he interrupted Bernie's train of thought.

"Well, the basics for now. You'll read it in my report, but here's the lowdown: there's no ID on the victim. There's no wallet, keys, money or anything in his pockets. His clothing is in good shape and appear to be very well tailored pieces from fine material – enough to make your partner jealous," Bernie added with a smirk as he thought of the well-dressed inspector. "Where is your protégée anyway?"

"Researching the building or at least what used to be the building," Mike responded curtly. "Now, what else did you find?"

"Again, the basics: he's Caucasian and of course, he's a he. From the measurements I took, he was around 5'10". His bone structure was average."

"Age?" Mike asked.

"Looking at the skull, the bone itself was reasonably solid, but as I was able to see on the rest of the remains, the skeleton was fully developed. If he'd been older, you would find the bones to be more porous," Bernie replied.

"So, what are you telling me?"

"I think either in his thirties or forties. The other thing was the hair. It had lost some pigmentation, which is what I'd expect, but you could still see natural color in the strands as well. Dark brown was what I saw."

"What else?"

"Well, whoever bound him knew what they were doing. He was neatly and efficiently tied. The primary binds were some sort of adhesive tape. After all these years, it was still extremely tight. Makes me think that our victim was unconscious when he was tied up. If there had been a struggle you would have seen some sort of gap or flaw in how the ties were wrapped," Bernie pondered. "Can't be sure, though."

"But you don't think he was dead before they placed him in that crypt?" Mike asked.

"No, I'm fairly certain of that. His eyes were open, as you may have noticed. Despite being gagged, so was his jaw. It was as if his last breath was a gasp."

The seasoned detective winced. "Cause of death?"

"Well, by process of elimination, I can tell you he wasn't shot, strangled, or had any broken bones. His skull wasn't bashed, although there was a small hairline mark on his skull. He wasn't stabbed - there were no blood stains on his clothes. While we won't be able to do any toxicological analysis, I would say he was either knocked out or drugged, tied and then sealed in the crypt. He probably woke up hours later and then, well… It's what nightmares are made of, Mike."

"Did he starve to death?" Mike asked as his mind wondered.

"No, I'd be willing to bet the ranch that he died of asphyxiation. I was about to do some testing on the lungs. I might be able to tell from that. Want to watch? It's rather fascinating," Bernie offered. "I dissect a piece – as thin as you can imagine - and then put it on a slide. I should be able to tell how much stress the lungs endured."

Mike smiled. "You know Bernie, I will definitely take your word for it. Say, send up your final report when it's done."

Bernie laughed. _Stood up again – no one ever wants to stay and watch. _"Sure, Mike. Will do."

Mike began to leave, but then quickly turned around. "Bernie, any indication of how long he was in there?"

The younger man took a step back from his equipment and looked at the corpse. "You know, it's hard to put a timeframe on how long the body has been dead. I mean, consider the crypt, Mike. The location was the northeast corner of a brick building, so opposite side of where the sun normally shines. The crypt was one level below the street, which would generally be cooler. San Francisco is not exactly hot on the warmest of days, so the body really didn't have the heat factor to cause decomposition. It could take decades for someone sealed in an airtight area to decompose."

"What are you saying?"

"Given the body alone, it could be ten years – or it could be thirty years. Decomposition varies. The fact that he wasn't embalmed but still in decent shape tells me that he died encased in those cinder blocks. It was fairly clean and airtight. The body would have been in a much worse shape if he had died and later moved," Bernie pondered. "I'm going to lay a bet that he had an empty stomach when he was placed inside."

"Why?"

"The more in your stomach, the quicker you decay. I don't think you want me to go into detail on this, so you'll just have to trust me."

"Oh," Mike thought to himself. "Okay, I'll take your word for it."

"Really, Mike, I think your biggest clue to the timeframe of the murder is what Steve will find. Confirm when the building was built and you should have the timeframe."


	3. Chapter 3

To Mounty Swiss, who wondered how the story could be connected to Mike and Steve 'back in the day.' That question gave me an idea, so thanks Mounty! That little connection is for you! And to Kell, I did finish this a bit earlier than I thought. So this is a little present for you - nice work in finishing your story today!

* * *

**Act 1, Part 3**

Steve held a small bundle of files in his arms and whistled as he walked down the seemingly endless hallway to the bullpen. _Quite the morning of research, _he thought to himself. _I haven't done this much digging for facts since college. _He took a quick glance of his watch and noticed he had spent more time than he realized on the project. Entering the Bureau office, he thought he heard thunder followed by rattling glass.

"Where have you been?" came what sounded like a bear's roar from the glass office twenty feet away.

Not thunder. Not a bear. Just Mike.

Mike rose from his chair and entered the main area of the office. "You left here hours ago," he continued loudly. "I was about to send a search party for you."

Dan Healy and Norm Haseejian ignored the noise and focused on their paperwork. Only Bill Tanner dared to glance up and cast a fearful look at Steve.

Steve caught the look and peered innocently at Mike, "No need for that. I'm here now." It was a statement of the obvious that was completely meaningless, and he knew it would get under Mike's skin.

Mike stared blankly at the young man and counted to five to give himself a moment to cool down. He knew that Steve was an excellent researcher and trusted his abilities beyond question. Still, he also knew that Steve could get into his work and lose all track of time. "Well, did you find anything?" Mike asked in a deliberately calm voice.

"Actually, yes. And I've got a bit of a present for you," Steve quipped.

"For me? You shouldn't have," Mike replied with an edge to his voice.

Norm couldn't help but grin and thought to himself, _You got nerve kid, I'll give you that._

"First, let me tell you about the building," Steve said as he followed Mike back into his office and took a seat in front of his desk. He held the files closely on his lap.

"I'm listening," Mike coaxed as he shut the door.

"The building at 2350 Coleman Street passed inspection on June 23, 1946. It was a 3 story structure made of brick and painted off-white to blend in with the area. Rentals began on August 1 of that year. The first floor was retail, you know, small shops. The remaining two floors were medical and small business offices."

"1946, huh? I _thought_ it was built after war," Mike said with a degree of smugness.

"Yes, you're right on that one, Mike," Steve agreed. "The building was owned by Magnum Developers and was built by Martin Construction. Remember that name, by the way."

Mike was intrigued. "You're not already able to tell me who this poor soul is, are you?"

Steve grinned. "For the occupancy permits to be issued, I imagine our victim would have been in his final resting place before the June inspection."

"Okay, I understand. What else?"

"So I decided to see if there were any missing persons in 1945 or 1946 - and I ended up in Archives," Steve paused for effect. "You wouldn't believe who I found."

"Out with it. You are dragging this out too long," Mike said brusquely.

"In good time, sir. In good time!" Steve knew that Mike was caught hook, line and sinker. "Anyway, I got the missing persons files and started going through them. The number of people reported as missing always surprises me. But anyway, when you take away the missing persons who were found, one way or another, there were eleven still open and unsolved from that time period. So, I pulled files and checked them out."

"And?"

"Seven were women, so that left four men. Of the four men, I found one Mr. Monte Martin. He was a co-owner of…"

"Martin Construction…" Mike said as he quickly grasped his protégé's meaning.

"Indeed, he was! Martin went missing in the Spring of 1946 and was never found. It's all in here," Steve said as quickly nodded to the manila folder.

Mike tried to grab the file, but was stopped. "Nothing doing…yet," Steve toyed.

"Well, what do you have – a description? A photo?"

"How about a complete file with pictures and narrative. All beautifully constructed by one Gustav Charnovski." A grin spread across Steve's face as he watched Mike's eyes.

"Gustav…Gus? This was my old partner's case?" Mike asked, almost humbled.

"It sure was, Mike," Steve responded as he handed Mike the file. "It was Gus's case."

Mike eagerly grabbed the folder. "There's a lot of information here, Buddy boy. Looks like a full investigation of his disappearance," he remarked as he thumbed through the file. "A description, photos, various records, statements. Looks like statements of family members and friends…"

"And maybe even a suspect," Steve added.

"Could be, could be," Mike said as he continued to read the file.

"What did Bernie come up with?" Steve asked.

"A man in his 30's or 40's, probable cause of death asphyxiation. Bernie estimated he was 5'10"."

Steve nodded his head. "Look at the front, Mike. Monte Martin was 43 at the time of his disappearance."

"And so he was," Mike said after he flipped to the front of the file. "Physical description, 5'11" and 165 lbs. Brown hair, hazel eyes. Bernie was damn close with the height and he did say something about brown hair. I'd hate to have the job of measuring a corpse that's been dead, what 28 years now?"

Steve stretched back in his seat for a moment as Mike reviewed the file. "According to Gus's notes, Mr. Martin had a few enemies. Looks like he was a bit of a cheat with women and in business."

"Yeah, did you see the one where he drove one of his suppliers out of business?" Steve asked.

"No, but I'm looking at the one report where two of his workers were killed in an on the job accident. The guy received death threats from the workers' families." Mike pulled out a picture of Martin before he shut the file. "But Steve, we don't really know if this is Monte Martin or not. Why don't you take this picture down to Bernie and see what he thinks."

"You got it. Martin's dental records are in the file too. That's got to be useful," Steve said as he grabbed the folder, exiting Mike's office.

As he crossed the bullpen to leave the Bureau, Mike roared again, "Steve!"

"Yeah, Mike?"

"Nice work. But get back here as soon as Bernie determines if it's Martin. I want to see if any of the characters in that file are still around and what they know."


	4. Chapter 4

**Act 1, Part 4**

* * *

Bernie sat at his desk eating his lunch when Steve came by with the file.

"If I showed you a picture from a missing person's file, do you think you would be able to verify if it's the same as the John Doe from yesterday?" Steve asked earnestly.

Bernie put his sandwich down and looked at the photo of Monte Martin. "Hmmph," he said as he studied the face. "I'll take a look. It's easier to prove a negative in these cases. If there's something amiss, then we have our answer. If there's nothing amiss, there are always doubts."

"There are dental records in the file as well as a physical description," Steve added.

"Well, that should help. What is it, a numeric catalogue of his teeth?"

Steve scrambled through the file and found the record. "Yes, I suppose. It's a list numbered one through thirty two and then next to each number is a description of the tooth – you know, whether there's something wrong it with. I don't know what number corresponds to what tooth, but looks like he's got a chip in number seven as well as cavities in twelve, fourteen and fifteen."

"Unfortunately, I've seen enough cases through the years that I know exactly how teeth are catalogued. If our friend here has a chip in number seven, where do you think tooth number one is?" Feeling the need for someone to take an interest in his work, Bernie asked, "Care to take a guess?"

Steve thought for a moment. What an odd but challenging question. "Well, like the English language, we read from left to right and top to bottom. So I'll say upper left and then dropped down and repeat."

"Oh, so close! It's a circle. It goes from upper right to upper left, then drop down to lower left and back over to lower right. So your number seven would be the right lateral incisor."

Steve nodded. "Let's hope that the teeth are in good enough shape for you to see the chip. I mean if they're all chipped, it would do no good."

"That's true," Bernie agreed after rewrapping his sandwich and setting it aside.

"Come along with me," he said to the younger man. "It shouldn't take long."

Steve thought for a split second. "Oh, man, you don't need to interrupt your lunch on my account. Why don't you take a look when you can and then call me," he jumped in fearing that he was about to be directed into the examination room to watch Bernie perform more on the autopsy.

"Aw, c'mon Steve. It will only take a few minutes. His mouth is wide open and the tooth is near the front."

Steve stood still for a moment. In his six years of being a cop, there was nothing more unnerving than watching an autopsy. It seemed like he and Mike had witnessed a few. Mike knew it was difficult the young man and often let him sit near the door or stay in the background while Bernie or another Medical Examiner worked away.

"Steve…" Bernie called from the other side of the room. "C'mon, there's nothing to this. Hey, you've got to develop a bit more stomach for this anyway. This one isn't so bad. The body is so old, it's mummified."

"I'm not so sure that's a good thing," Steve replied but opted to follow Bernie into the exam room.

* * *

The John Doe corpse was still on the examination table, although it was covered in a sheet. "Okay, Steve, let's take a look, shall we?" Bernie led.

"Sure," Steve said quietly although he was not ready to see the corpse unveiled.

Bernie lifted the sheet from the victim and revealed the unclothed mummified remains of a murder victim. While the binds were gone, the poor man was still in the same hogtied position and Steve wondered why.

"Rigor mortis. If I move him too much, he'll simply break. I don't want to do that. If we're able to find his family, we can see what they want to do with the body, but quite frankly, if I do much, he's going to fall apart."

"Oh," Steve commented.

"Let me show you what all I've done to document this victim's condition without causing him great disruption…"

Bernie then eagerly took Steve on a whirlwind tour of John Doe, highlighted by various samples and specimens that were methodically removed from the poor man. For the most part, Steve remained quiet and only occasionally looked away.

"Could I have the window open, please?" Steve asked quietly.

"Sure, go ahead," Bernie said as he shrugged. Steve opened the window and stood letting the fresh air envelop him. "The smell does get a bit bad around here. I've just become use to it."

After several minutes of reviewing Bernie's handiwork, Steve finally asked, "Bernie, when can we look at his teeth?"

* * *

Before Steve had taken the file, Mike noted the name of the widow who had originally reported her husband missing. Ellen Martin, nee' Mason, was thirty six years old when Monte Martin went missing. He made a call down to the Department of Vital Statistics and quickly found that Ellen Martin had her husband declared dead in 1953, seven years after the initial report. He also learned that Ellen Martin was now Ellen Hall and had married Ed Hall in 1954. The Halls had no children and remained in the Bay area. He had their address scribbled onto his notepad.

_First person we'll talk to,_ Mike thought to himself as he checked the clock. _Where is Steve? He should be back by now._

Over an hour had passed. He thought about calling Bernie, but had a hunch that perhaps his young partner had been trapped into watching part of an autopsy procedure just as he nearly had earlier. _Maybe I should go down in person and rescue the poor boy._ Knowing he couldn't see the Halls until it was confirmed that Monte Martin was the body in the crypt, he grabbed his coat and fedora and left for the morgue.

* * *

A few minutes later, Mike walked into the examination room and found his partner sitting next to an open window with a glass of water in his hand. He was white as a sheet.

"Bernie, what have you done to my partner?" Mike asked with half a smirk.

"Nothing at all. I just showed him the finer science of forensics. Seems as though out young Steven here might be coming down with something because about halfway through, he started looking more like a corpse."

Steve glared at the ME. "Very funny," he grumbled.

Mike was amused, but anxious to proceed with the investigation. "But do we have a conclusion? Is our John Doe really Monte Martin?"

"Michael, without a doubt in my mind, given he had multiple problems with his teeth that clearly align with his dental records, plus the bone structure that is similar to what is portrayed in Martin's photo, yes, I can support the claim that this is Mr. Martin."

Mike smiled and clapped his hands. "Good enough for me, Bernie. Write it up and send me a report." He glanced at his partner who looked greatly relieved to be leaving. "Buddy boy, we've got people to see. Bring that file and we'll start calling on some of the folks that Gus spoke to twenty eight years ago."

"Thank goodness," he said under his breath as he rose from the seat, and then said louder, "Bernie, thanks."

"Yeah, right, Steve," Bernie said with doubtful look. He knew Steve was miserable for most of the time he'd spent there.

The young detective paused for a moment as he placed his drinking glass on a side table. "No, I mean it. I have no idea how you can do the job you do and then do it so well," Steve admitted.

Bernie was genuinely touched by Steve's compliment. "Why, thank you. I don't often hear that kind of professional etiquette. It's just 'Bernie get me this' and 'Bernie get me that'," he commented with a condemning glare directed to Mike.

"Hey, I'm not that bad. Besides, who do you think the boy learned his professional etiquette from?"

"From whom do you think?" Bernie corrected.

"I already know who," Mike answered testily. "I'm asking you!"

All sensibility was now lost. Steve's grin confirmed the idea he was feeling better, and the men took their leave from the Medical Examiner. Next stop: Mrs. Ellen Hall.

**End of Act 1!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Act 2, Part 1**

* * *

The home wasn't palatial, but it certainly was comfortable. As Mike and Steve walked up to the forest green front door of the Hall residence, they took in the moderately affluent neighborhood around them. Steve rang the buzzer and stepped aside for Mike to take front and center. Less than a minute later, an attractive older woman in a bright yellow cardigan appeared at the door.

"May I help you?" the woman said pleasantly through the storm door.

With a broad polite smile, Mike displayed his badge as he began. "Ma'am, I'm Lieutenant Mike Stone of the San Francisco Police Department. This is my partner, Inspector Keller," he added as he pointed quickly to Steve. "We're looking for a Mrs. Ellen Hall. Would that be you?"

"Yes, I'm Ellen Hall. Has there been trouble?" she asked curiously.

"No, ma'am, at least not recently," Mike answered. "Would you mind if we came in? We'd like to talk to you about a missing persons report you filed many years ago."

"Missing persons report? You must mean for Monte – that was so long ago," she said as her voice began to trail. She then remembered Mike's request and opened the door to let the pair in.

Her home was immaculate; spotless with everything in its place. In addition to the house, Steve studied the woman. The woman was in her mid-sixties, but looked younger. She had nicely styled champagne colored hair, was trim and well dressed. As the reason for their appearance sunk in, Ellen Hall became guarded and reserved, but that was not an uncommon reaction toward the pair of detectives during an investigation. Mrs. Hall offered the detectives a seat on the sofa and then politely offered to get them something to drink.

"No ma'am, we're fine," Steve answered.

She walked into the hall briefly and called for her husband, "Ed, dear. I need you."

Seconds later, a burly, but friendly looking man with grey hair appeared. He was surprised to see guests in his living room, but introduced himself just the same.

"Dear, these men are detectives and have come here about Monte. Isn't that right, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, ma'am," Mike answered. "Mrs. Hall, you may want to sit down. I have something I need to tell you."

Ed flashed a glance at his wife as she dutifully sat down. Ellen got her bearings and replied, "You've found him, haven't you? After all this time, he's turned up somewhere." Concerned, her husband walked around her chair and stood next to her placing his hand on her shoulder.

Mike calmly, but firmly relayed the news. "Ma'am, yesterday workmen demolishing a building uncovered a corpse. We have reason to believe it is your missing husband, Monte Martin."

Ellen sat for a moment in silence. Finally, Ed broke the quiet. "Ellen, are you all right?"

She took a deep breath and responded, "You know, not knowing what happened to him… I guess I always had hope that he was somewhere else, but alive."

"Of course you did, ma'am," Steve consoled.

"Mrs. Hall," Mike began, "Monte Martin was found in a building that his construction company built, down on Coleman Street. There's no doubt he was murdered."

Ellen sat there until a slight grin spread across her face. Steve studied the expression and was puzzled. "Ma'am?"

The grin remained and then she answered rather ambiguously. "So many enemies. He did so many bad things."

She got up and walked across the room in a slow deliberate pace. "Honey, are you okay?" Ed asked.

"You never met him, Ed. But I've told you before he was a real son of a gun. He must have pushed someone over the edge," Turning to Mike, she asked, "How did he die?"

"He was tied up and then bricked over during the construction of the building," Mike responded soberly.

The image was shattering to Mrs. Hall, "Oh, my!" She brought her hands up to her face. Ed rushed over and took her back to the chair before racing off to get her a cold compress and a glass of water.

After composing herself, she continued. "It was 1946, after the war. Things had been booming and so was Monte's business. He could have done such great things, but he cut corners and spread himself and the business too thin. He couldn't keep commitments and a couple of the building sites were downright unsafe. He made enemies, but he didn't seem to care. All he was concerned about was making the almighty dollar before anyone else did."

"Any idea who may have wanted to kill Mr. Martin?" Mike asked.

Ellen shook her head no.

"According to the file, he had a partner in his business," Steve explained, "an individual named Colin Martin, who I believe was Monte's older cousin."

"Yes, Monte's mismanagement eventually drove the company into ruin. Colin lost everything he had and started over," Ellen responded. "But Colin's a good man; he would never have gone that far."

"I understand, ma'am. We aren't accusing Colin Martin, but simply want to understand who might have had difficulty with the victim."

"We had accidents at the sites. One time, two young men were killed. Monte received death threats from their families. Come to think of it, Monte received death threats from others. You mentioned a file. Have you read through it? Most of what I'm telling you is probably already in there."

"Yes, ma'am. We are fortunate to have found a very well documented file. Now we'd like to speak to the same parties and see if they remember now that time has passed," Steve continued to explain.

"Young man," Ed interrupted. "That's not exactly how it works. As you get older, you tend to forget the details. Just wait and see," he added with a smirk.

Mike smiled. "Yes, Mr. Hall, you've got a point there, but on the other hand, sometimes the years provide clarity. People put the pieces together after a while, and that's what we're hoping to find. Sometimes a witness or associate is so close to a situation, that only time and distance help provide perspective."

"I supposed you're right," Ellen agreed, but then remained mum as she sat with her hands folded.

Mike recognized that the woman needed time to process what she had heard. "Mrs. Hall, I'm going to give you my card. I think it best that we give you time to allow this news to soak in. I mean after all this time, our visit certainly came out of the blue. If you think of anything however, or just want to talk, please don't hesitate to give me or Inspector Keller a call. At some point, we'll call again and talk more."

She nodded her head. "Thank you. You have been quite kind. You know it seems like yesterday when I first filed the report and was interviewed by another officer. He was kind as well. It was such a difficult time."

Mike smiled at the idea that she had been interviewed by Gus. "It's what we're trained to do, ma'am."

* * *

"So what do you think?" Steve asked Mike as they drove away from the Hall residence.

"I can't imagine finding out someone was murdered so many years after they went missing. When we get back to the station, I want you to go through the file and list out all who were interviewed or investigated when Gus work on the case," Mike ordered.

"You got it, Mike."

"Clearly she moved on with her life, but I imagine Monte Martin was in her thoughts every day. Twenty eight years…," Mike said.

"1946. Say, wasn't that the same year you started the force?" Steve asked.

"That was the year I enrolled in the Police Academy," Mike remembered. "You see, I came out of the service in 1945 and stayed home for a while. It was important for me to be there. You know, my brother Alex never made it back and Mom and Dad took it hard."

"That's rough," Steve commented. He thought about what Mike must have gone through upon his return, being the surviving son. Suddenly a question he'd never thought to ask before struck him. "So how did your parents take the news when you decided to become a cop? Were they afraid of the risk?"

"Nah, I don't think so. For one thing, being a cop was different. There were less guns on the streets. And for another, it just made sense. I was in the Marines and had been assigned to the Military Police."

"That's right. You were an MP. You mentioned that when we first started working together."

"I certainly was, Buddy boy. I was big guy, taller than most and I boxed," Mike added as he lightly punched his partner in the shoulder.

"Oh yeah, the boxing…it all makes sense. So the military powers that be pegged you as someone who could be a good bouncer for the Marines," Steve teased.

"A bouncer? Oh, I'll bounce you if you don't watch out!" Mike retorted with false indignation. "No, I was a cop, plain and simple. It was great experience. So when I came out, that's what I wanted to do."

"So, in '46, you were in the Academy and then when you graduated, you were paired with Gus?" Steve added.

"Yep. Good old Gus," Mike agreed.

Steve glanced over and saw his partner had just been taken back in time, remembering the simpler days and his very first partner. The young man smiled. But as he drove, he began to consider that the good old days could be very dangerous indeed. He shuddered while thinking of the violent end that Mr. Martin met. Recalling Mrs. Martin's comments, Steve thought to himself. _I don't care how horrible he was, no one deserves to go through what he did._


	6. Chapter 6

**a/n **Thanks for your support on this story. If all turns out as planned, you'll have 4 or 5 suspects to ponder as the murderer of Monte Martin. You've met Ellen Martin Hall. In this chapter, you will meet Colin Martin. Of course, there's also the little mystery about Steve and lovelife. What is he keeping so secret?

**Act 2, Part 2**

* * *

_Later that afternoon…_

"So, I may be a little late. Will that still work for tonight?" Steve said quietly into the phone, not to raise the curiosity of those around him in the office.

"Even better," the bubbly voice of a young woman responded. "I was pulled into work a shift this evening at the department store. I have to be there from five until closing. That means I'm over on your side of the bay anyway. We can meet somewhere, say around eight thirty?"

Steve took a quick gander around to once again see if anyone was listening to his conversation with the pretty clarinet player he had been recently dating. "Pamela, I hope I'm not too forward by suggesting this, but why don't you come by my place when you're through with work. I'll call my neighbor, Anderson, and ask him to put the spare key under the front door mat. That way you can let yourself in just in case I'm running late."

"Sounds good, Steve," she said. Then in a faux accusatory tone she teased, "I suspect Anderson's done that before. I'll bet you two have a nice little set-up."

"Yes, he and I have spare keys to each other's apartment so our steady stream of women can let themselves in on demand," Steve chuckled as he played along. The truth really wasn't far from what was being said anyway.

"Hmmm…I was warned about you, but I like the arrangement. That way we don't have to worry if one is running late," Pamela agreed.

"And make yourself at home if you get there first. My place is your place," he said very welcomingly. "And I know of a great little neighborhood Italian restaurant that stays open until midnight. Even with a late start, we can still have a nice night out. Now, you've got my address. Yes, 287 Union," he said with a slight smile. "Okay, see you later at my place. Bye."

Steve hung up the phone, unable to conceal the satisfied look on his face. _One good thing about investigating a nearly thirty year old murder is that most of the suspects and witnesses probably go to bed early. I'd better not say that out loud or Mike will be all over me. _He chuckled at the thought.

"What are you sitting there grinning about, Smiley?" Mike said seconds later as he came up from behind the young man.

"Oh, nothing. Just working on these addresses for the Martin case," he added.

"It sounds to me like you're having one of the people in that file over to your place for a late dinner tonight," Mike joked.

Steve sighed. There was no getting past Mike. "Not anyone from the case, no." His smile was quickly gone.

"A young lady, no doubt. One of these days, you'll have to tell me about her," Mike suggested with an unintentional strain in his voice.

Steve looked over and nodded. He could tell Mike's feelings were a bit hurt, but Steve reasoned that he was a grown man and entitled to some privacy.

"I will, Mike," he smiled as he quickly changed the subject. "I've got a handle on the people that Gus interviewed. Colin Martin for one. He's nearby and should be around for us to talk to."

"All right, good one. What else?"

"The two young men killed, Gus had interviewed both of their families. The first young man's name was Benito Alves. His father, Juan, had been interviewed and didn't mince words. He's now deceased. The mother moved back to El Salvador."

"So a dead end there?" Mike winced at his unfortunate, but unintentional, pun.

Steve raised his eyebrows, but then chose not to comment on the slip. "Unless we get Interpol involved, yes. There's a statement from the Alveses, but nothing triggered Gus to move any further."

"All right, we'll have to set that family aside. Who's the other one whose son died?" Mike asked.

"Brian Johnson. His father is Charles and the mother was Mary. Mary is deceased, but Charles is living in a rest home here in the city."

"You've got the addresses?"

"Yes, in my notebook. Up for going to Colin Martin's first?" Steve wanted to know.

"I thought you'd never ask!"

* * *

Colin Martin greeted the detectives at his condo, a modest, but modern home located in a large high rise. "I moved here when I retired. It's small, but it's got a beautiful view of the city and it's walking distance to whatever I need," he said as he ushered the men inside.

Martin continued once the men were settled in the living room. "Ellen called me and said that you found Monte. Is that true?"

Neither detective was surprised that Colin Martin knew the fate of his cousin given their interview with the widow, Ellen Hall. "Yes, the medical examiner was able to match the dental records," Steve confirmed.

Mike studied Martin. The older man was in his late sixties, still very handsome and quite fit. His home was neat and sparsely decorated. There were a few items of sports memorabilia on the walls and a large console TV in the corner. There was only one recliner in the living room. A display of cereal boxes and hamburger dinner mixes was on the counter, led Mike to conclude this Mr. Martin was now single.

"Are you and Ellen Hall close?" Steve asked.

"I was Monte's business partner and first cousin. Really, aside from Ellen, I was his closest relative. But yes, she was his wife, so our paths have crossed numerous times over the years. She's remarried and went on with her life several years ago, so we don't see each other often now."

Steve took notes as Martin continued. "She told me he was found at the Coleman building."

"I'm assuming she told you how he died, too." Mike added.

"Yes, it was difficult to hear. I'm still in a bit of shock."

"Obviously now with the discovery of his body, this goes from being a missing persons case to a homicide investigation," Steve began. "I know that you were asked to provide any thoughts around where your cousin would have gone or who might have wanted to do him harm. Now that so much time passed and with the discovery of his body to prove that it was murder, do you have any further thoughts on how this happened? Who wanted your cousin dead?"

"Who didn't?" Colin Martin answered the question with a question. "He was a cheat and a con artist. I trusted Monte and so did Ellen. The things we found out after Monte's disappearance cast an entirely different light on the man we thought we knew."

"How so?" Steve asked.

The older man ran his hand through his hair and then shook his head slowly. "Well, from my view, it was the business side. Monte had set up a series of vendor accounts. I didn't know; like I said, I trusted him. But the vendors were actually to other parties unrelated to the business. One was a bookie. Another was to a bimbo he was keeping up near the Presidio."

"He cheated on his wife?" Mike asked.

"Not just cheated, but he had this dumb broad set up in a separate situation. He took care of her apartment and living expenses," Colin said as he shook his head. He pulled out a cigarette and offered the pack to the detectives. After both declined, he stuffed the packet back into his cardigan and grabbed the lighter on the side table. After a moment, he took a deep drag and sighed.

"What was her name?" Steve asked.

"It's been so long. Seems like it started with a J. Juliet, Julia, Judy, I don't remember anymore. Once Monte disappeared and the money ran out, she took off," Colin answered.

"How did you know about her?" Mike asked curiously.

"I went back through the books and saw checks that went out twice a month. The name and address was at a residence, not another business. It just looked fishy. I went over there and knocked on the door, and lo and behold this buxom brunette answered in a night gown. It was all I needed to know."

"That wasn't in the missing persons file," Steve noted.

"I never wanted to hurt Ellen, so I kept quiet about it. It wasn't until just before she married Ed that she told me she had known."

Mike glanced over to his partner who was busy writing in his notebook. This was new information that wasn't considered years before.

Martin continued, "But the worst of it was the insurance policy. You see, we had an insurance policy for the business. It was for our own liability and it was also meant to be a life insurance policy for the workers. Because of the work we did, it was expensive, but it was another benefit that we could give which would retain good workers. Unfortunately, behind my back, Monte let a lot of things lapse, including the policy."

"That can be dangerous," Steve added as he continued to write. "We know about the accident that claimed the lives of the two young men. Had the liability policy lapsed at that point?"

"We were in the grace period. I asked Monte about it and he said it was paid. After we tried to put the claims through on behalf of the dead boys' families, they came back rejected. It added so much pain to an already devastating situation. They sued us for negligence and won."

"That wasn't in the file, either," Steve noted.

"That's because the lawsuit took a couple of years to resolve. Monte was long gone by then and I was left holding the bag. I was forced into bankruptcy," Colin said.

"Looks like you came back and did all right for yourself," Mike commented.

"It wasn't the first time I'd been down. After all, I started in the construction business right before the Great Depression. I lost everything that time, too. I simply started again," Colin replied philosophically.

"Did your cousin lose everything as well during the Depression?" Steve asked.

"Yes, we worked together then too. But that was the difference between us. He not only 'started again'. He vowed 'never again'. He became forceful and shrewd. We benefited from it for a while. That drive helped us to succeed, but it was also our undoing."

* * *

The detectives wrapped up their initial interview with Colin Martin and returned to the office. "He seems like a decent sort," Steve commented as he typed up the interview notes.

"You bought what he was selling?" Mike asked.

Steve thought for a moment. "I guess so. I mean, he did have motive, but I'm not sure the insurance situation was fully evident by the time of the disappearance."

"Possible, but didn't you get the sense that he felt sorry for Ellen?" Mike asked.

Steve thought for a moment. "There was something there. I did get the sense he was angry about Monte cheating on Ellen."

"I think we'll need to pay another visit to Mrs. Hall. I think I now understand the emotion behind that little grin she showed. 'He got what he deserved' is what flashed through her mind."

"And then what? To the Johnsons?"

"That's the one family whose son died in the accident?" Mike asked.

"That's right," Steve responded.

"Maybe tomorrow, Buddy boy," Mike said with a glint in his eye. "Say, why don't we call it a night?"

Steve looked at the clock and realized it was barely past seven. "Are you sure?" he asked with a bit more excitement in his voice than he intended.

"Sure," Mike said simply as he watched Steve quickly put away the file, grab his jacket and walk across the bullpen.

Steve turned around after nearly leaving, thinking that maybe Mike was trying to make up for the times when the job pulled him from his evening activities. He looked back and smiled, "Mike, thanks."

"Go on," Mike bellowed. "Get out of here!"

"Yes, sir," the young man said with a quick salute as he darted out the door.

"It will all be here tomorrow," Mike said quietly to the now empty bullpen.


	7. Chapter 7

**a/n** - This chapter has a less emphasis on the case and more on Steve's relationship. Don't worry - Pam is not a Mary Sue. She is there to add a dimension to our favorite Inspector - and also figures in helping with a key clue. But I don't want to get too much of ahead of the story. (Changing rating to "T" - for adult themes, however not explicitly written).

* * *

**Act 2, Part 3**

**3 o'clock in the morning…**

"The bed's cold," he mumbled as he slept fitfully. Steve tried to pull the blanket around him, but blindly found only the top sheet. It was twisted and soon snaked around his body like a rope. He felt the scratchy sheet around his wrists and tried to push it off, but to no avail.

"No," he mumbled softly. Oddly, he could hear Bernie searching from room to room calling out his name. _Why? _ Steve wondered. Why was Bernie in his apartment while he was asleep? _ Bernie, enough! You id'd the body already. _Steve wanted to get up and talk to his colleague, but he couldn't move.

"I lost him" announced the worried voice of the medical examiner. "I was supposed to make sure he was in good condition. Now he's vanished."

_Vanished? You don't mean Monte, do you, Bernie? _Steve tried to call out, but no one heard him. _Talk to me!_

"He was here minutes ago," Mike said. "What happened to him?"

_Mike, finally, thank goodness you're here! Bernie must be sleepwalking. Can you get him home?_

"Mike," Bernie addressed urgently. "He's fallen into this hole. Look!"

Mike peered over the side. Steve looked up and saw his friend's worried face. Panic tore through the young man. Mike appeared heartbroken.

"We'll never get him out of there," Mike concluded.

"We'll never get him out," Bernie repeated. "It's all over."

_What do you mean all over? Guys, I'm right here. Mike! _ Steve tried to raise his arms toward his partner, but it was like lifting lead.

"I'm sorry, Buddy boy," Mike said. He pulled out his handkerchief and wiped his face. "You were a good kid, but a little reckless sometimes. At least now you'll be safe." Mike walked away from the makeshift pit as terror overtook his partner. Bernie placed a cinder block over the open space above Steve's head.

_"No!"_ Steve cried out. He was finding it hard to breathe. _"Stop!"_

"Mike, help me brace the blocks so we can cover the hole. He'll be protected in there." Together the men worked quickly to seal the crypt Steve was in. All was lost for the young man.

* * *

"Let me out!" he shrieked as he quickly sat up in his bed, breathing hot and heavy. His eyes were tightly shut while the images he just saw in his dream still hung with him: Mike's concerned face, the feeling of being in a dark hole and the shadowed image of being sealed. _What just happened?_

Suddenly, Steve felt a cool, gentle hand on his back. "Steve, are you all right?" a sweet voice asked.

Only then did Steve become aware that someone had been lying next to him. He opened his eyes to get his bearings and realized he was safe in his apartment with Pamela at his side.

The memory of the evening came flooding back. He reached his apartment before she did. They chatted for a while and had a lovely meal at a favorite local restaurant. When they returned to his home, things quickly became physical. _It's so natural…so much chemistry,_ he had thought at the time.

"Pam…" he said as he continued to breathe heavily. "Aw, man, that was some dream." While it was dark, he could see her eyes filled with sympathy and a little bit of fear.

"Hon, what just happened?" Pamela asked as she pulled herself upright and began stroking his back. "You're all sweaty," she added.

"I'm sorry," he said as he dropped his head in his hands. "And on our first night together, too. Please know that I've never had that happen before," Steve said as he tried to apologize and mitigate her concern.

"What's wrong?" Pamela asked again.

Steve thought for a moment. "It's the case I'm working on. I spent a good portion of my day with the ME. I guess it got to me more than I realized."

Pamela nodded as she shifted her touch from his back to side of his head. He relaxed some as he felt her fingers running through his hair. It was very soothing, but he felt flushed and nauseous. "Man, I'm hot. I need to get some air." Steve absentmindedly got out of bed, stumbled over to the window and parted the curtains. The moonlit kissed glow from the city dimly lit the room, making it all look more like a dream.

After opening the window halfway, Steve hung his head out and took in the night air. The relief was welcome and the cool air felt soothing.

"Can the neighbors see in?" Pamela asked after a moment.

"They can only see as far as the window itself. There's a wide alley in between the buildings, so they can't see in. Definitely not much of a view for either side," he commented, very much wanting to throw himself into the mundane conversation around window views in order to forget the nightmare.

"Well, they may not have much of a view, but I sure do!" she giggled as he suddenly realized he had left the bed without putting his shorts on.

Looking down, he replied, "Oh, sorry! No wonder I was cold," he said sheepishly.

"It's okay. It's my pleasure," she teased.

Pleased that his dream had not frightened the young woman, he quickly returned to bed and burrowed next to her.

"It will help to talk about it," Pamela stated as she happily shared the blankets that had accumulated on her side. "I promise to be a good listener."

For a brief moment, he opened up. "It's a tough case I'm on right now. I'll never get used to autopsies. And this one was unusual – the body was recovered after decades. I think what bothers me more is how he died. He was buried alive."

"Oh, that's awful," she replied. "I can't even imagine what his final moments must have been like."

"You know, given the size of the crypt he was in, it probably took several hours," Steve commented.

"That's something I could never get used to. Death by a malicious hand," Pamela said as her bright eyes gazed into his. "And you face that day in and day out. Talk about hazards of a job."

While he appreciated her understanding of the negatives of being a cop, his attention shifted completely to Pamela - her sparkling eyes, long brown hair and soothing voice. He no longer wanted to discuss the job, his dream or the topics of autopsies. All he wanted to do was be with her. She became distracted as he began nibbling her neck, but she still spoke. "You know, I had a dream once about playing my clarinet in front of everyone. It was scary."

"Umm-hmmm…" he said as he continued to nibble. Realizing what she said, he became curious. "Why was the dream scary? Playing clarinet is what you do, and you do it so well."

"I may play the clarinet, but generally when I do in real life, I have my clothes on. In my dream, I was completely naked. It was the most embarrassing dream I ever had."

"I hope I was there," Steve said slyly.

"You were, hon, front and center," she added as she rolled on top of the young man. Enough talk.

Steve cast a quick glance at the clock on his nightstand. It was 3:15 in the morning. Mike would be at his apartment picking him up in just over four hours, and he would need all the sleep he could get. As he looked up at his lovely companion, he figured he'd have to make time later - much later.

* * *

Steve hit the snooze button only a flash after his alarm rang at 7am. He didn't want to wake the slumbering Pamela, who didn't have a class until the afternoon. Looking at the young woman next to him, he carefully encircled her with his arms and gently kissed her cheek. She moved only slightly. He soon shut his eyes and a minute later, he was once again asleep.

Ring. Snooze. Ring. Snooze.

Suddenly it was 7:18am. Mike would be there in precisely twelve minutes. Steve was normally given a five minute grace period for the times Mike picked him up in the early morning, but if he wasn't bounding down the steps by 7:35, Mike would be pounding on the door. He pried himself out of the bed, grabbed a robe, made coffee and then hopped into the shower. Fifteen minutes later, he heard Mike's knock.

Half dressed with damp hair, Steve conceded defeat and opened the door for Mike to come in.

"Good morning, Buddy boy – a bit of a late night I see?" he asked playfully.

"Sorry, I'm up late. I'll just be a few more minutes," Steve said as he scrambled back to the bedroom to finish dressing. "Have some coffee."

Mike leaned against the counter sipping a cup of coffee until his partner reappeared.

"Almost ready," Steve announced as he grabbed his shoes and plodded back into the small living room. Mike marveled at how quickly his hair could go from a wet mess to consistently perfect blow dried style he always wore.

"Steve, I think you've got a problem," Mike began.

"What?" he asked, completely unaware.

"You're not thinking of wearing those shoes with that purse, are you?" Mike said as he pointed to the little white handbag sitting on his sofa alongside a small jacket.

Despite being somewhat shamed for his indiscretion, Steve decided instead to play along. "Oh, no," he said as he looked down at his feet. "Thank goodness you said something. You saved me from looking the fool."

Mike sighed with disapproval. "You know, Buddy boy, back in my day…"

"I know, girls you knew wore chastity belts and lived in ivory towers," Steve continued.

"No, wiseguy. I was going to say things weren't as free and easy as they are today. People respected each other and adhered to standards. You kids just hop into bed…" Mike pontificated as his voice grew louder.

"You know, she's in there sleeping, Mike. She's a nice young woman – you'd like her," Steve reasoned.

"I'm sure I would...if I ever met her!" he responded gruffly.

"And I'm sure that can be arranged, but really Mike we've not dated that long," he added as he grabbed his jacket. Seeking a way to change the subject, Steve added, "Come on, then. I think we've got people to question."

"Darn straight, we do. I want to go down that list you made, and I also want to see Ellen Hall again. There's something not right there," Mike suspected.

"Well, let's not waste another moment here," Steve replied with a cheeky grin.

Anything to redirect his partner!


	8. Chapter 8

**Act 2, Part 3**

* * *

It took a bit of effort to find Charles Johnson. He was not listed with the phone company nor did he have any real or personal property. Steve was able, through the Social Security Administration, to confirm he was still alive and receiving benefits, and from there he found that the octogenarian, a former World War I veteran, now lived in a retirement home in the city.

Mike and Steve arrived at the Shady Hills retirement home and were quickly greeted by a friendly receptionist. "How can I help you?" the young, red haired woman asked. "Are you here visiting a relative?"

"No," Mike smiled, "no, we're not. I'm Lieutenant Mike Stone and this is Inspector Keller." Both men showed their badges.

The redhead flashed her eyes at Steve and smiled sweetly. "Oh, officers, certainly. What can I do to help you?"

Steve returned the smile. He had long mastered how to flirt with receptionists and secretaries quite effectively. He looked at the nameplate on the receptionist's desk and addressed her politely. "Mrs. Selfridge, we're here to see a Mr. Charles Johnson. He's a resident here," Steve added.

"It's Miss Selfridge," the woman corrected playfully. "Yes, Mr. Johnson is a resident here." She looked at his record and a slight frown crossed her face. "I'll need to contact our social worker. The resident is in our memory care area."

"Memory care?" Mike asked. "What does that mean?"

"Well, it means different things to different people. Most of the people in memory care just need help remembering their medicines, what day it is, that kind of thing. Sometimes they forget where they are and try to go home."

Mike nodded his head. "Then please, go ahead and contact the social worker."

The smile at Mike was polite and professional. As she turned to make the call, the smile reached her eyes as she continued to flirt with Steve. The younger detective noticed and gave a wink back. Mike rolled his eyes at the display.

The pair waited several minutes until they were greeted by the home social worker, a Mrs. Tessa Green. She led the detectives back to the memory care ward. On the way there she discussed very generally where they were going and what many of the patients were like.

"I'm not certain how this will go," she added. "Sometimes Mr. Johnson is very lucid, while other times he's just not there at all."

Feeling much sympathy for people in this condition, Mike wondered whether they would get any valid information from the man. As they reached Mr. Johnson's room, Mrs. Green knocked on the door.

As it opened, the pair got their first sighting of Mr. Charles Johnson. The elderly man was engrossed in television while confined to his wheelchair. He barely noticed the company.

"Mr. Johnson, it's Tessa. I've got two detectives from the San Francisco Police Department here to see you. This is Mr. Stone and the young man here is Mr. Keller," she said as she pointed to the two men while addressing Mr. Johnson is a louder than usual voice.

"I'm not deaf, Tessa. What do you fellows want?" he said very grumpily.

"Mr. Johnson," Mike began. "I'm Lieutenant Mike Stone of the Homicide division and this is Inspector Keller. We are here," the detective stopped for a moment to rephrase his words. "Mr. Johnson, do you remember a man by the name of Monte Martin?"

"Monte Martin, that bastard. Of course I do," Johnson replied.

Mike was hopeful that Johnson was having one of his lucid days. "You may remember that Mr. Martin disappeared many years ago. 1946, to be exact."

"He was never found," Steve joined in, "until two days ago."

"Where is the son of a bitch?" Johnson grumbled without taking his eyes off the set.

"Mr. Martin is dead…" Steve answered.

"Of course he is. The bastard got what he deserved," Johnson added.

Both Mike and Steve were surprised at the reaction. What did Johnson know? Why did he presume so quickly that Martin was murdered?

"Why, Mr. Johnson, that's exactly what we'd like to know," Mike said diplomatically. "Do you recall the circumstances of his disappearance? You were interviewed by the police at the time."

"Recall? Hell, I'll never forget. The bastard was responsible for the death of my son. He had to answer for what he did."

Mrs. Green was stunned and knew that Mr. Johnson's words were quickly becoming incriminating. "Mr. Johnson, shall I call your son, Andrew?"

Mike and Steve noted what must have been another son, who was likely the next of kin and main point of contact for the residence home.

"I don't need him here. Andrew's a twit," he said sharply to Mrs. Green. "Besides, I can handle myself." He returned his focus to the detectives. "Yes, of course I know the circumstances of Martin's death. He was the enemy. I couldn't be forgiving. It was my job to take him down."

"Sir?" Steve asked for clarification.

"Where were you during The Great War, lad?" Mr. Johnson asked Steve with great annoyance.

"World War I, sir? I wasn't born for nearly another thirty years," he answered truthfully.

"And I suppose you didn't fight in WWII either, hey?" Johnson asked.

"That would be correct, sir," Steve answered again. Mike had difficulty hiding a smirk.

"War is hell!" Johnson yelled sharply. "I did what any soldier worth his salt would do. I shot to kill."

"Shot?" Mike interrupted. "Are you saying you shot Monte Martin?"

"Right between the eyes. If I hadn't, who knows what he would have done. He could have thrown a grenade right in our foxhole."

Mike, Steve and Mrs. Green exchanged disappointed glances. _Not lucid at all,_ Mike thought to himself.

"Mr. Johnson, what year was it that you shot Mr. Martin?" Steve asked.

"Why it was near the end of the war. 1918!" he answered with a wave of his hand. Looking at Mike, he had taken just about all he could of Steve. "Where did you get this young boy? From a roadside cabbage patch? Doesn't he know his history?"

"Oh, he knows history. He just hasn't lived through much of it," Mike added hoping to appease the old man. Realizing they were getting nowhere, Mike addressed Mrs. Green, "I think we'd better go."

"Mr. Johnson, it was a pleasure meeting you," Mike said as he shook the older man's hand.

Steve started to reach his hand out for the man, but then had second thoughts as Johnson waved him off and uttered, "Bah!"

* * *

"Well that went nowhere," Mike said as the pair returned to the car. "But he sure had your number!"

"He was a confused old man. I have absolutely no idea what he knows or remembers,' Steve admitted.

"He sure didn't warm to you," Mike said with a smile.

"I don't worry about old men; just the ladies. One of these days, you'll know you're really old when you no longer like me," Steve teased.

"Oh, so my intolerance of you will be only a sign of my aging and not a function of your behavior?" Mike said as he played along.

"Now you got it," Steve agreed. "So, what's next?"

"What I'd like to do is see Mrs. Hall again. I'd like to know what she knew about Martin's indiscretions. She conveniently forgot about that, I suppose," Mike surmised.

"Or maybe she doesn't want the current husband to know that she couldn't keep her first husband from straying," Steve added. "Not that most reasonable people nowadays would think that," he continued. "Of course back then, all people did was hop in bed with one another…" he added under his breath.

"Don't bring down my era to the level of yours," Mike ordered.

"Oh, c'mon, Mike. The idea of fooling around is as old as dirt. My generation didn't start it," Steve defended.

Mike looked on defensively. "No, but yours has made it an art form."


	9. Chapter 9

**Act 2, Part 4**

* * *

"Of course, I knew," Ellen Hall responded defensively. "I wasn't stupid. It broke my heart."

The older woman stood facing the two detectives who had returned as follow-up. Her devoted husband, Ed, was away. Mike wondered if talking to her alone would allow her to be more frank.

"Monte Martin was a scoundrel and a general ass, but there were moments when he could be sincere and charming. That's why I fell for him," she said as she walked across her living room. Mike sat on the sofa while Steve was in an adjacent chair.

"When did you marry?" Steve asked.

"It was 1940. I was quite young when we wed – nearly a decade younger that Monte. He was thirty seven - too old for the War, actually. So he was able to stay behind and develop the business along with Colin," she said as she grabbed a cigarette from the box on the table. "Do you remember all of the construction that occurred here after the Depression, Lieutenant?"

"The WPA – the Works Progress Administration. Many roads and buildings were constructed during that time," Mike remembered.

"That's right. And Colin and Monte were in the thick of it. They started out as sub-contractors but then played their cards well and opened their own company. They worked on some of the public buildings and then eventually partnered with private developers. That's when things got crazy."

"Crazy, how?" Steve asked.

"There was money and more money. But there was also corruption – it wasn't rampant, but Monte knew a guy who could get him the permits and licenses he needed for just a fraction of what it would cost if he stuck to code. There were kickbacks, but Monte pocketed most of the dough."

"Did Colin know about this?" Mike asked.

"No, Colin was a straight as they come. He believed in safety and being careful on the job sites."

"So Monte was living the high life. Is that what you are telling me?" Mike asked.

"First it was the cigars. Cubans, before they were banned. Then it was the clothes. It was nothing flashy – just all class. Fine materials, well tailored. He looked good and knew it. The dames loved him," she said as she cast a quick glance over to Steve.

Steve caught the look and blushed slightly. _Nothing wrong with looking your best, _he thought to himself. "So you knew he cheated. Did you know any of the women and do you think anyone had it in for him as a result?"

"I said the dames loved him, but to my knowledge he had only one mistress: Juliet," she said with a frown.

"Does Juliet have a last name?" Steve asked.

"Tramp, Slut, Whore. Take your pick."

Mike sighed. "Now Mrs. Hall, I'm sure you would like to get to the bottom of Mr. Martin's murder. If you know who this woman is, tell us."

"Juliet DeRosa. She came from back east. Queens, of all places. She arrived here with her wealthy boyfriend. Thought she was high and mighty, if you know what I mean. When her old man croaked, she started looking for younger sugar daddy. Enter Monte. He had her put up in an apartment downtown."

"Is she still around?" Steve asked.

"Oh, sure, she's around. She's around six feet under ground at Liberty Cemetery," she said as she seemed pleased by Mike and Steve's surprise. "It was nearly twenty years ago. She had been drinking and walked in the way of an oncoming car."

"Oh," Mike commented, disappointed that another lead was apparently evaporating.

"Yes, too bad for the car," Ellen quipped.

Steve couldn't help but laugh.

"Look, you're barking up the wrong tree here, if you think I know anything about Monte's death. He was a cheat, in many ways. But I don't know who killed him. All I know is that there were a lot of people who had reason. But we all knew that nearly thirty years ago, didn't we?"

* * *

"All right," Mike said back at his office. "We've had one dead end after another. We've got the wife, the cousin and business partner and the bitter father of a man who was killed on his site. Martin was apparently an absolute heel of a man and there's no shortage of people who had motive. What else?"

Steve placed his hand on the side of his face. "There's Alves - you know the other man who was killed. There's also the company that Martin drove out of business. Let me look at the file," he added as he looked for the record. "Yes, Reynolds Riveters. They supplied hardware and labor for some of Martin's projects and they went unpaid."

"Okay, we'll hit them tomorrow. What else?" Mike barked.

"Well, there's the physical evidence around Martin's body. His suit, his bindings – and the position he was found. The fact that he was encased on a job site certainly suggests someone he knew through work."

"It most definitely does," Mike agreed and then remained silent until he heard Steve blurt, "Technique!"

"What?" Mike asked.

"It's a long shot, but what about the brickwork? Can we find out if the masonry style of the crypt matched the rest of the brick and cinder block work of the building? Maybe there's a way to identify the style or technique a brick mason has." Steve wondered.

"Now you're thinking, Buddy boy!"

Steve smiled. "You know, Mike. I've been through that file a hundred times. There's one thing I don't see."

"What's that, Steve?" Mike said. He was always intrigued by Steve's train of thought on criminal matters and wondered what his point would be.

"Bias. Gus organized everything so neatly – there are about a half dozen witness and suspect statements on top of the medical and dental records his wife had provided. What I don't see is where Gus figured out one of the suspects was more interesting than the others. "

"You're right there. But you have to remember there was no body or real crime scene. All this really had been was a missing persons case," Mike responded.

Steve nodded his head as he took in Mike's point. "As far as Gus knew, the guy could have run off with a woman or money or both."

"Now we have the luxury of knowing differently," Mike agreed as he noticed his partner deeper in thought. The solemn look that crossed his face was not typical of Steve at this point of an investigation. The shock of the initial crime would have been past. "Now what are you thinking?"

Steve seemed to snap out of his thought and smiled. "I don't know. This one gets to me a little bit more than some of our other cases."

"Why?" Mike asked curiously.

"Do you ever empathize with the victims?" Steve asked innocently.

"You mean sympathize that their dead? Sure, it's only…" Mike began as Steve interrupted.

"No, I mean empathize. Do you ever put yourself in the victim's place? When I think of what Monte Martin went through, I almost want to panic," Steve said quietly.

"What do you mean?" Mike asked as he listened intently.

"I can't help but put myself in his place. Can you imagine? Waking up bound and gagged in a dark crypt. He couldn't yell and after a while, he couldn't breathe. You know he knew what was happening to him. Bernie said by the position of his jaw, he died gasping for air. With his eyes open like that, he knew what was happening to him. I just keep imagining what that must have been like."

"Now I know what you mean. Yes, there are some cases that do get to me more than others. The ones who die quickly out of passion aren't as hard to figure out as the ones who were restrained or tortured. I've seen a lot of bad things these last twenty eight years, Buddy boy. You just have to block it out. And if you can't do that, you have to talk it out."

"Talk it out?" Steve asked.

"That's what I'm here for, as far as you're concerned. And that's also what Lenny's here for," Mike answered. "He lives for this."

"Poor guy - digging such dark subject matter," Steve agreed with a smirk.

"Be that as it may," he responded with a sigh. "But if you find yourself losing sleep over cases like this, you tell me. There's no quick fix, but at least by talking about it, you'll feel better. It's therapeutic," Mike added with a touch of worry.

"I'll be fine. I think too much sometimes. And before you give me a hard time for that, yes, I know 'college boy' says he thinks too much. Besides, it's not just me that's losing sleep. I had a nightmare that really sent Pamela up to the ceiling," Steve confessed.

"Steve, you know I don't want to hear about your exploits," he said seriously. "But, if you need to see that little lady again to make up for something you did, you take the rest of the day off."

Steve looked up at the clock. "Mike, it's 8pm. I've already been here for twelve hours - what do you mean by 'rest of the day'? Besides, Pam's been rehearsing with the school orchestra and making demo tapes for her symphony auditions. I'm a free man tonight."

"Well then," Mike said sounding much like the cat who just ate a canary, "you have no excuse. Get back to work!"


End file.
